


Second Chances

by GiveMeDashes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, But not how you think, Character Death, Depressed Stiles, Derek Has Issues, Grief/Mourning, Insomnia, Loss, Loss of Control, Magic, Major Character Injury, POV Multiple, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles will get better, Werecats, post season 3B
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveMeDashes/pseuds/GiveMeDashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nogitsune is gone and everything is how it should be in Beacon Hills.<br/>But not really.<br/>Scott is teaching Malia how to control her powers.<br/>Stiles is fucked up.<br/>Lydia is coping.<br/>Derek is alone.<br/>And Kira is walking around like a damn annoyance because SHE IS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Stiles' POV:**

Stiles' door is cracked open ever so slightly. He sits in his desk chair, looking out his bedroom window. He has a blanket wrapped around his body because he can't seem to get warm anymore. His legs are brought up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around his knees. He has dark bags beneath his eyes and his skin is paper white. He is aware of John and Melissa whsispering behind his door, but he doesn't care enough to move.

"How long has he been like this?" Melissa asks.

"Since it happened," John replies bluntly. "I try talking to him but he won't say a lot." John's eyes hit the floor. "I'm worried about him."

"It's post traumatic stress. He'll be back to himself in no time." But even as she says it, Melissa's gaze is full or worry herself.

Stiles hears the two adults walk away from him and he rests his chin on his knees. It's already been two weeks since his Void self turned into ash at his feet, but he can't get himself out of this funk. He hasn't been sleeping. Or eating. Or communicating with anybody in the Pack by any method other than text. Ethan left after Aiden died which really wasn't that big of a surprise. Stiles was never a real fan of Aiden, but seeing his body covered in black blood was an image he won't be able to get out of his head for a while.

For the first week or so, everybody came to Stile's house to check up on him, to make sure he was doing all right. There would be at least three knocks on the door a day. But once Stiles started ignoring the Pack-because he really can't look at any of them in the eye-the knocks became less frequent until they were nothing at all. Now Stiles is just left to deal with his numb self because he can't bare to reach out and tell everybody how he's doing, because nobody is really doing well right now.

Not since Allison died.

Even though Stiles didn't see it himself, he can still see the sword entering Allison's abdomen and her coughing up blood in Scott's arms. When the Nogitsune was vanquished, all of it's memories this time around became Stile's. He sees dead Allison. He sees the appauled look on Melissa's face when the piece of shit was messing with her before Scott and Lydia rescued him out of his own mind. He sees the terrified Lydia standing behind a steel door, brushing her hair form her face and whispering almost seductively in her ear.

He sees everything.

In his nightmares.

In his daydreams.

In _general_.

And they're driving him absolutely fucking insane.

Stiles shifts in his seat, the material making a noise beneath him. A cold shiver runs up and down his spine and he finds himself shivering agian. He tucks the blanket under his chin and closes his eyes, if only for a moment, to try and get warm. It works until the swirling images behind his eyelids turn into a face wrapped in bandages with golden fangs sticking from a black mouth.

He snaps his eyes open and gasps suddenly, the vivid image of the Nogitsune still plastered into his brain. The shivers are back and he folds into himself even more, if possible.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. Because really, everything that happened was his fault and he wants nothing more than to take it back. He wants everybody to be alive again. He wants his life to be back to how it was before fucking Peter bit Scott. Because that's when everything went to hell, really.

* * *

**Lydia's POV:**

Lydia is putting on her lipstick like she does every morning. The crimson balm sreads smoothly over her curled lips, giving them a slight, unnatural glow. She gives them a quick pucker in the mirror before putting the golden cap back on and throwing the stick in her makeup bag. She looks a little closer at her lips, at how bright the color is agianst her pasty white face. And a flash of Allison lying on the ground, dead, streaks through Lydia's vision and she finds herself whiping the makeup from her mouth, grunting and eyes water.

Her hands are sleaked with red and they begin to tremble. She grabs a cloth and rubs them clean before taking her phone from her pocket. She immediately scrolls through to find Aiden's name, because he's always been good at calming her down when they aren't screwing in the janitor's closet at school.

She stops short though, and it feels like a hand is making a fist around her heart, tightening its grip with every passing second. She slowly sets her phone on her table and looks at it like it's a foreign object. She pulls her sleeves up to her fingers and brings them to her mouth to try and muffle out the sob that is about to wreck through her body.

"I need to go do something," she says to herself. She quickly strips down and puts on a pair of yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and a headband before putting her hair up in a ponytail. She pulls on her Nike's and slides her phone back into her pocket before walking downstairs. She looks into the living room, which is empty, to no surprise, and then walks out the front door to somewhere.

Normally, Lydia would go to Allison's on a Saturday. She would study or talk about Scott or Isaac or Aiden or even Derek because he's honestly the sexiest werewolf she's ever seen. The two of them would be able to spend hours together, a bond Lydia has never been able to share with another girl until Allison moved to Beacon Hills. Now that she's gone, it's like a part of the town is missing.

Running has always made Lydia nervous. In the past she's completely blacked out and when she came back to, she was standing in front of a dead body with a pool of blood around it. But things have been calm in the two weeks since Stiles was saved from the Nogitsune. Or as calm as things can get living in a town that's literally a beacon to the super natural.

Lydia's breaths come in short, quick bursts as her feet take her to wherever over the concrete. Her arms are pumping and her hair will come back and smack her in the cheek every so often, leaving a stinging sensation running along her skin. Soon her legs are aching and her lungs are begging for more oxygen. So she stops and looks to see that she's in front of the school.

The police tape has long since been taken down since the fight the twins and Derek had with Void Stiles and his Oni. But Lydia can still feel, can still _sense_ , the life that was taken here. Walks over to where she knows Aiden died in Ethan's arms, where he drew his last breath. She crouches low and touches the ground, feeling the heat that his body offered at the time. Then it goes ice cold and she retracks her hand away like the spot burned her. She turns away, threatening to cry again.

Lydia was in no means in love with Aiden, but he helped fill an empty space in her that she constantly needed filling. FIrst Jackson went to Europe, now Aiden. She really just needs to take a break from dating shape shifting freaks. She gathers her emotions in check and puts on the mask that she has so quickly perfected, and runs again, away from the school. Away from her troubles.

* * *

 

**Scott's POV:**

Scott has been trying to move on. He really has. He knows that he can't stay depressed and hurting because how he behaves effects the entire Pack. He's been trying to get his mind off of things by taking his dirtbike out through the woods and by studying, but those things only keep the pain at bay. They don't take it away all together.

So now he's in his garage, lifting weights, doing crunches and push-ups, and exploring the ranges his new alpha abilities give him. He still doesn't know his limits, so he's been testing the boundries. He didn't know that he could do a back flip off a wall, or standing in place for that matter. He didn't know that the speed of his healing has at least doubled. He didn't know that his claws could grow out a little farther if he willed them to.

He didn't know that he could feel the emotions of the others in his pack.

Scott can feel the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness spreading through the Pack day by aching day. Lydia is doing her best to surpress the feelings, but overall has done a pretty shitty job.

Stiles is depressed. Nothing more to it.

Isaac is doing better. He and Chris took a trip right after everything blew over. It's fitting because Isaac needs a father figure to look to and Chris needs somebody else in his life now that both Allison and his wife are gone.

He has no connection to Ethan, so he has no idea where the ex-alpha is.

And Derek has gone dark. But that isn't anything new.

For some reason he can't feel a connection to Kira's emotions. He thought that he would be able to after all she did when the Nogitsune surfacee but even when he focuses he can't get a read on her. The same goes for when they're with each other. Kira has shut him out completely and he thinks he knows why.

He still loves Allison and he hasn't completely let go because _fuck_ how can he?

Scott drops the dumbells in his hands which crack the concrete floor of the garage. He sits on the edge of his weight bench and slides his hands into his hair which is wet with sweat. He loses himself in his angst as he closes his eyes and drowns out all noise by focusing only on his breathing, but it doesn't help. In a desperate attempt to rid himself of the negative emotions clouding his mind, Scott lets out a roar. It isn't as deep as it has been in the past, but it's enough to rattle the windows and knock a box from the shelves in the garage. Not ten seconds after letting out his burst of rage, he gets a text from none other than Derek Hale.

_What's wrong?_

Scott replies - _Nice to finally hear from you. Nothing. I'm fine._

_Don't do that. We can all hear it._

Confused, he says - _How?_

_You're an alpha, dumbass._

He drops his phone on the ground, not caring about what happens to it as it lands with a sharp thud. He's curious to know why no one else in the Pack sent him a text, but the thought doesn't dwell in his head for long. His mind almost instinctively goes back to Allison, her in his arms and bleeding from her abdomen and him not being able to do anything to save her. Hedrops his head again and laces his fingers together on the back of his neck. The tears are there now, and they haven't really stopped. He lets them flow freely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries wrapping his mind around things while the rest of the Pack meets for the first time in weeks.

**Stiles' POV:**

John walks into Stiles' bedroom now, this time without knocking like he usually does. Stiles turns in his seat to make eye contact with him. The sheriff looks like he's about to say something important, but his words get jumbled up as he tries saying them and he cuts himself off. He looks flustered, frustrated, and it kills Stiles even more to know that he's doing this to his dad. He stands and walks over to the sheriff and places a shaky hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, it's okay. I'm fine." The lie comes easily, and he knows that he shouldn't lie to his dad anymore, but it's more of a force of habit than anything.

John returns the motion with one of his own. "I'm worried about you, son. You haven't said a word in a couple weeks now and that's just so not Stiles. You can talk to me, you know that."

"Sure, dad." He gives an assuring nod as a chill wrecks through his body, causing him to bend his back at an uncomforable angle. John sees the discomfort in Stiles' eyes. He can't lie about this one.

 "That." John's eyes hit Stile's chest. "What was that?"

The fake smile seems to melt off of his face at the question. He drops his hand from his father's shoulder and turns his back on him. His eyes are looking at the ceiling because he's angry at himself for being so weak and frustrated because he can't do anything about it. The negative thoughts that cloud his mind are very unlike his usual character and they're tearing him apart. He runs a trembling hand through his unclean hair and sighs. "I just can't seem to get warm is all. It's no big deal. Contact doesn't seem to help at all. It just . . . It just makes it worse. So please, as terrible as it sounds and, trust me, I _know_ how terrible it sounds, could you just . . ." The word gets stuck in his throat. " _Avoid_ touching me?" He doesn't have to turn around to see the hurt and concern and worry on John's face. But he's always been a good father, even when times were aboslutely shitty. He's always given Stiles what he needed, and his space is definitely something he needs right now.

"Yeah . . ." His father's voice is soft. "Yeah, I . . . I can do that." Stiles hears his heavy feet leaving his room and he closes the door behind ever so gently.

Stiles rubs his face with his hands which he still hasn't been able to regain control of. His eyes scan the room, from the window, to his bed, to his wall which he had pinned so many strings and pictures and ideas on. He tore everything down the second he got the chance. Little holes dot the walls from the endless amount of thumbtacks he had to use, and the little sons of bitches stabbed his fingers on more than one occasion. He sits on his bed and rubs at his fingers, trying to get the circulation back. He lets his mind wander. Not to the super natural though. To his mom.

He would have no problem opening up to Claudia, to telling her how scared he was and how scared he _still_ is even though he's sure he's safe. Or safer anyway.

What he's really scared of though is that he's having trouble remembering Claudia's face. He takes in a panicked breath and turns his attention to the picture of her sitting on his desk and he calms down. Her auburn locks drape down her shoulders, her dazzling white teeth smiling wide, and her hazel eyes, which she passed down to Stiles. He walks over to his desk, which is cluttered in paper and books and candy wrappers, and picks up the picture. He strokes Claudia's cheek, wishing so much that he could touch her real skin, olive and soft and _alive_.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He sets the picture down carefully and fishes for the device out of his jeans. On the screen is a text from Derek.

_I need to talk to all of you. Be at the loft as soon as you can._

A minute later: _No, not the loft. It's not safe anymore. Go to Deaton's._

Those words were never good to hear. Or in this case, read. But Stiles being Stiles knows he adds a certain intelligence to the pack that nobody, not even Lydia, can add. He throws on a hoodie, despite the seventy degree weather, his keys, and walks downstairs. John is sitting in the living room, looking through notes while talking on the phone. Stiles manages to slip outside without alarming his dad and sends him a text telling him - well, the truth. Derek needs to talk to him and the rest of the Pack, so he had to go.

Stiles thinks twice before getting in his Jeep though. He doesn't trust his hands enough to drive so he burries them into his pockets and starts walking to Deaton's.

Time doesn't even seem to register in his head and he suddenly feels like Lydia, how he'll be walking and not even realize where his destination is. He pray's silently that he doesn't find a dead body, because that would make things absolutely terrible.

Another chill runs up his spine and he stops in his tracks. He feels like somebody is watching him, and if there's anything he's learned in three years it's that somebody usually _is._

He picks up his pace.

He starts jogging when a twig snaps somewhere off in the distance.

He starts sprinting when he thinks he hears a growl in the bushes.

And he swears he can feel the warmth of something with sharp teeth and long claws breathing down the back of his neck.

"Stiles!"

And Scott is standing in front of him suddenly. Stiles slams into his friend's chest but regains his footing rather than falling on his ass.

"Jesus, Scott, what the hell - "

And Scott is hugging him, gripping him tightly. He burries his face into Stiles' neck and Stiles can hear him inhale deeply, which weirds him out exponentially.

"Um. Scott? You want to _not_ smell me?"

Scott releases him now and looks him in the eye, very focused. Scott seems to be looking into his sould with the amount of inensity in his gaze and Stiles can't help but notice the change in his friends' physique. His arms have gotten stronger, his normally well kept facial hair is a longer than normal on his jaw line and chin, and his hair is cut shorter than usual. He looks well, considering.

"How are you?" Scott asks suddenly. He's still uncomfortably close, but the heat radiating off of his body isn't uncomfortable like that of John's; it's more soothing and comforting.

"Fine," he manages after a moment of silence, and he can see the slint in Scott's eyes that tells him the werewolf isn't stupid.

"Stiles, I know when you're lying. Tell me the truth."

His head sinks a little bit but he remains eye contact with Scott. He tilts his neck to the side as if to crack it, and then Scott leaps backwards, his eyes blood-red and claws sticking out of his fingers.

"What the fuck, Scott?" His face lights up in alarm and he takes a step back.

Scott shakes his head once, hard. He retracks his claws and his eyes are borwn again, but he's blinking them rapidly. "You looked-" Stiles sees the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard. "Sorry. I'm still trying to gain control over myself. Let's just get to Deaton's."

Stiles isn't stupid either. He shifts from one foot to the other and narrows his eyebrows. "So, what, you can call me out on me lying but don't think that I can't read you enough to when you are too? Scott, what happened just now?" It's more of a demand than a question.

Scott turns sideways and avoids eyecontact. "You looked void."

Another chill spirals through his body, and he hates himself. He hates that his friends probably won't ever be able to look at him the same again. "Let's just go." He brushes past Scott, this time avoiding his touch.

Ten minutes of walking in silence and the duo is at Deaton's office. They walk through the front door even though the sign says that the vet is closed. Standing at the head of the room is Derek, wearing his usual long sleeve black t-shirt, Lydia in yoga pants and a sweatshirt (when the hell did that happen?), Isaac awkwardly off to the side, and Kira waiting patiently by the door. When the alpha walks ahead of Stiles, he intertwines his fingers with hers. Stiles stays at the doorway.

"Everyone's here," says Scott. "What's up Derek."

"Bad news." He looks tired. His skin is paler than usual and if a werewolf could have cancer then Stiles would swear he's going through kemo. "You know that the only way to be a werewolf is to either be bitten and let the venom take, or to be born as one, right?"

"Yeah. That's like super-natural 101," Isaac mumbles sarcastically. Derek doesn't even glare at him which worries Stiles even more.

"Well sometimes, a scratch can be enough to cause the change."

"A scratch?" Scott looks appauled. "Derek, what's going on?"

Derek shifts on his feet, like he's looking for the right words to say. "A couple months ago, Peter and I were captured by a couple of hunters. They wanted to know where a certain person was, but neither of us knew what they were talking about. They tortured us for information we didn't know. They wanted to know about a person known by 'La Loba.'"

"I've heard about her," Lydia interjects. "It's a Mexican tale about a woman who collects the bones of dead wolves.

"That's not weird or anything," Stiles says under his breath. He should be used to this kind of weird shit by now.

"They say that once she collects a full skeleton she'll sing to it and it will turn into a wolf once agian. Then when it's hit by either sunlight or moonlight, it turns into a woman. A laughing woman."

"And now it's creepy. It's always creepy, isn't it."

"That's basically the legend," Derek says, taking control of the conversation again. "But right now, I don't think we're dealing with other wolves."

Everyone looks at him like he's nuts. He shifts again.

"At least, not in that sense."

"Then what are we dealing with, Derek?" Scott demands. He takes an intimidating step towards Derek, who is unmoved by the new alpha.

A pause, a deep breath, and then, "I think we're dealing with werewolves amongst the ranks of the hunters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woaaaaaaaaaa nobody saw that coming!  
> Yeah. Right.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Fan Fiction, so if it's terrible let me know.  
> Picture this little bitch of a chapter as like the first five minutes of an episode where the camera just pans from character to character as we learn what everybody is feeling.  
> I'm going to try and incorperate the whole Kate thing as well as I can before season 4 starts up, so just enjoy it if you like it. Thanks darlings.


End file.
